


Making It Big

by A_Pen



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Pen/pseuds/A_Pen
Summary: Because if a rattata can do it, so can I. So can anyone.(A story about a girl, a rattata, and some people they meet along the way, in a world that isn't as fair or just as it should be.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All art by @OldSchoolJohto!

**Part One**

~*~

~*~

Pokemon trainers are the lucky ones.

I asked Mom why I couldn't be a pokemon trainer and she explained it to me. To get a "starter," like you see on those big TVs, you need to already have enough money to buy "basic training supplies" so you can take care of the pokemon when you get it. Well, my dad does whatever work he can find on the docks and my mom spends every hour of the day she's allowed as a waitress at Cafe Sonata. We don't have that kind of money to spare.

I do my best to help out, but I'm not strong enough or old enough to be worth hiring yet, so I mostly hang around in the sewers. Sometimes I can find dropped coins or items. My biggest find was an ultra ball some really stupid trainer must have left behind. When I first spotted it I thought I was dreaming, but I touched it and it was real. Then I thought for sure one of the trainers hanging around would spot it and claim it from me. If they did, how could I stop them?

I stuck the ball in my pocket, but it bulged horribly. So then I took my jacket off and tied it around my waist, the ball still hidden away in one of the pockets. I tried to walk as casually as I could. When I was finally up on the open streets I nearly laughed with relief. I didn't, though. If people start looking at you funny, nothing good comes of it. They don't want scum on the streets.

I think the clerk at the pokemon mart cheated us. Probably took one look at our clothes and decided he could get away with it. Mom says resale value is always lower, or something like that, but he only gave us 300 poke for it. I figure half would be 600, and half of that again is 300. That's just a quarter of what it's worth, right? 

That's not fair.

My best friend, Sammy, says I'm a whiner. She's right. I'm luckier than most of us: my parents have a house to rent with heating in fall and winter, and I have a jacket. I love my jacket more than almost anything else ever. Well, I love Mommy and Daddy of course. I love, love, love Castelia cones even though I've only tasted them once, when the nice lady had some left over on a cold day when nobody was buying. But my jacket is the most pretty light blue, the color the sky's supposed to be like. The sky here always looks gray. Mom says it's the pollution.

There's only one thing softer than my jacket, and that's Champ's fur. Champ's my best friend who's not a human. I call him Champ—Sammy says it's a lame nickname, but Champ tried to tell me his real pokemon name before and it just sounded like _Rat-tat-tat-tata_ to me. He can't say my human name right either, so he calls me _Rat-ratta-tat_.

Everyone says rattata are pests, but they call me a pest too. I think Champ's amazing. His teeth can break through anything and he never gets lost when it's dark. I've gotten better at seeing in the dark, but I'll never be as good as Champ.

Champ and I have a plan. I'm worried it's a stupid plan, though. That's why I haven't told Mom or Sammy or Dad. That day when Mom explained about pokemon trainers to me, she said you don't need an "official" starter. You just need a strong pokemon—well, a pokemon strong enough to fight all the wild pokemon and trainers out there. But to catch a strong pokemon without another pokemon first you need to buy lots and lots of expensive poke balls. Or you need to pay for someone else to capture it for you or for someone else to raise it up for you.

So you need money.

Here's the thing, though. I don't need a pokeball for Champ to come with me. I've told him all about trainers—the free food, free healing, the quick money. Also, unlike battles down in the sewer, trainer battles end when the pokemon are uncon-unconscious! He got all excited when I told him, chittered a whole lot, and gave me his biggest grin. Well, not exactly a grin, but he does this thing with his whiskers and ears that's basically the same.

It's late now, nearly time for me to run home so Mom and Dad don't worry. I'm sitting with Champ, and we're both thinking over our plan.

"If we want to do this," I tell him slowly, "we have to train so that you're stronger than all the other rattata. I know that sounds tough, but I'll help you! I can give you some of my food every day, so that you don't have to spend the day looking for some, and instead we can practice your moves. We'll be a team, right? That's something none of the other rattata have got."

"Tatta!" In response, Champ lifts his front paws up and down really quickly, like he always does when he's excited.

And you know what? I think we can do this. 

I do.

Because even if no one else does, I believe in Champ.


	2. Chapter 2

We've been training for forever now!

Well, okay, maybe just a few months. But Champ has gotten so much stronger! He learned this crazy new move where his teeth light up and then he just destroys everything! Only the stronger rattata who also know the glowy-teeth move want to challenge him now. It's actually kind of a problem, because battles with the strong rattata are really close and tire Champ out for the rest of the day. It would be easier if he could keep fighting the weaker rattata, but it wouldn't be right for him to beat them up even if he stopped when they fainted because then they would be too tired to find food that day and then some other pokemon would beat them up too and then they'd starve.

Recently I got an idea, though. After Champ beats a weak rattata, I give it enough food to get its strength back. I'm really glad Mom's friends with one of the chefs, because otherwise we wouldn't be able to get all these leftovers. I can't take too many though, or Mom might get suspicious. I don't want her to know what Champ and I are doing in case we fail. She's noticed me taking more food, but so far she just thinks I have a growth spurt. Winter is almost over, and I've been thinking it would be best to leave in spring. That way it wouldn't be cold, but it wouldn't be that hot either. I'm trying to figure out a way to tell Mom and Dad. I want to prove to them we're strong enough, so today Champ and I are gonna test ourselves outside the city.

The gate guard gives us a suspicious look as we leave the city, but we ignore him. Route 4 is a sandy mess. My hair starts flying all over and Champ lets out an irritated chitter.

"Let's get this over with," I mumble, and Champ agrees. He runs right off the road into a patch of brush. "Wait up!"

I hurry after him.

By the time I'm there Champ's already found someone to fight. It's a sandile. Sammy's told me all sorts of things about sandiles and I know she was probably lying so I shouldn't be worried, but now sandile is staring at us with its eyes gleaming and I'm a bit nervous. Just a bit. Sandile opens its mouth in a lazy yawn and I see its teeth. They're really sharp, but not as strong as Champ's teeth, I bet. That makes me feel better.

"Go, Champ!" I say.

Champ comes forward and twitches his whiskers threateningly at the sandile, who closes its mouth. Sandile starts to flick up sand at us, like there's not enough sand in the air already!

"Champ, tackle it fast!" Champ moves quickly, knocking that sandile right on its back. "Bite it hard," I tell him.

Champ's teeth light up and he gets the sandile good, right on the stomach. The sandile twitches and the next second all this sand starts coming up from the ground, surrounding rattata like a whirlpool. I've never seen a pokemon do anything like that and I don't know how to help. Just as I'm standing there like an idiot, the sand settles back down and I can see Champ, looking tired. He's got sand all in his fur. He'd probably look funny if I weren't so worried.   
  
"Come on Champ!" I say, trying not to sound nervous. "Fast tackle again!"   
  
Champ gets up and starts to run towards sandile, but as he's getting close, the sand covers him again. This time I run forward too, thinking that maybe I should dig him out and we should run, but the sand goes away quicker this time and Champ doesn't look much worse off.   
  
"Can you get it?" I ask.   
  
"Tatta," Champ says loudly.   
  
He's close, and this time the sand doesn't stop his tackle. The sandile goes flying back a few feet and he doesn't get up. We wait for a moment, expecting him to move, but when he doesn’t I realize we've beaten the sandile!   
  
"Champ," I say, "you're the best!" In response, his ears and whispers perk up, so I know he's happy. "Hey, are you okay, though? Did the sand get in your throat?"   
  
Champ shakes his head. Well, that's good. But I still plan on giving him a long brushing when we get back. The sandile stirs a bit, and I realize I haven't given it any food like I usually do after we win. I almost don't want to, because it gave me such a scare with the sand. But then I think I'm being stupid. If I spent more time here, I'd probably know all about the sand. So I stick some food close to sandile, but not too close. Even though sandile looks beat, I'm still a bit nervous about the sand.  
  
"Guess we should head back home?" I say to Champ.  
  
"Tatta," he agrees. "Rat-ratta-tat, rat-tat-tatta!  
  
" I pick him up and spin around a bit. He glares at me, but he doesn't bite, so I know he's just pretending to be mad. "We did it," I say.   
  
But I know this is only the first step.   
  
.  
.

"You're crazy," Sammy says when we tell her.  
  
I stick my tongue out at her. Then I realize I'm acting like a kid, not a trainer, so I try to look stern or something. It doesn't really work, cause Sammy starts to giggle a bit.  
  
"I'm not joking," I tell her. "Don't laugh."   
  
She stops giggling and looks at me close. "You're not joking? But, Lena, I'm not joking either. That's crazy."  
  
"You don't think we can do it?'" I ask her, but really I'm not asking. I'm kinda mad.   
  
"You don't know too much about trainers, kay?" Sammy says. "I do. You know that time I did some volunteer work in the poke center? Well, they told me a lot about what happens if you lose. Cause if you lose, then you're stuck out in the wild with no pokemon to protect you. And whoever you lose to can take your money, all of it! I mean, they wouldn't if you've got whatsit— identification, right, but if you just look like a street rat with a pokemon, then I don't see what would stop them. It's not safe."  
  
"Sure it's safe," I say. "If it wasn't safe, why would so many kids go for it? They don't need money or anything ‘cause they have nice clothes. They do it for fun. They wouldn't do it if it wasn't safe."  
  
"It's safe for them," Sammy says patiently, like she always does when she knows better. "They look like trainers. No one bothers real trainers."   
  
That's true. Trainers walk around like they're some sort of royalty, like we’re still back when Unova had a king and queen.  
  
"Once I've won a few battles, then I can buy trainer stuff."  
  
"Once you've won a few battles," Sammy repeats. "Do you really think you can win one?"  
  
"Yeah," I say. "Me and Champ have trained hard—"  
  
"So have the other trainers. And they have pokemon raised for pokemon battles. They have rare, strong, special pokemon."   
  
"Champ may not be rare or special," I say, "But he's strong. And Sammy? None of those other trainers—what I mean is, they're doing this because it's fun. Champ and I are doing this because we need to."   
  
Sammy's quiet for a moment. Maybe she's thinking about how she'll get a job waitressing if she's lucky. Then she smiles, but smiles sort of sad and sort of angry.   
  
"Bust them all up for me, will you?"  
  
"I will," I tell her. Then I look down at Champ and correct myself. "We will." . .   
  
  
My parents take it quietly. "Lena," Dad starts, looking confused. "Do you really think—?"  
  
"Champ's strong," I tell him. "We're even beating pokemon outside the city." Well, one sandile and a scraggy we fought the next day, but same thing.  
  
"Don't you have to register somewhere . . .?" Dad asks, trailing off.  
  
"No." It's Mom. She sounds thoughtful, which is good. If Mom told me I couldn't go, or that I couldn't do it, then I wouldn't, because I trust Mom when she tells me no. "The laws have changed since we were young. And battle chivalry does ensure a kind of fair play."   
  
I'm not exactly sure what "chivalry" means, but I don't want to say. I'm pretty sure Mom's agreeing.   
  
"So I can go?" Mom and Dad exchange a Look.   
  
"Why don't you wash the dishes while we talk?"  
  
I make a face. "You just want to talk about it when I'm not here."  
  
"That's right," Dad says, smiling at me. "Off you go, then."  
  
I start to leave with loud stomping sounds, then remember I'm supposed to be acting like a trainer, not a kid. I lift my head up and stand very straight.   
  
"Come along, Champ," I say. "We are going to do the dishes."  
  
"Ratta-tatta," Champ says.   
  
Most of the time I can hear everything that goes on in the house, since there's only really the kitchen, the bathroom, and the big room where we sleep, but with the water running I can't hear anything. Parents are sort of sneaky, I guess.   
  
By the time Mom and Dad call me back, I've finished the dishes and I'm playing with Champ. Mom comes in first. I can't tell anything from her face. She and Dad sit on the ground next to me.   
  
"By league standards you're old enough," Mom says. She means that I'm ten and eight months. You can leave on your journey as early as ten.  
  
"Reshiram knows, you've seen more bad weather than most of the brats out there," Dad adds.   
  
"I'm not going to lie," Mom says. "If you can pull this off, it would mean a lot to us."  
  
For a moment she frowns and I can see that she's getting older. Soon they won't want her as a waitress at the cafe. Experience is one thing, Mom told me once, but a pretty face is another. And Dad's been having problems with his back lately. That's probably ‘cause he spends so much time moving lumber at the docks, but if he can't bend well then he can't work. Castelia's the greatest city in the world, but it's not cheap staying here.   
  
"I know, Mom," I say, reaching out a hand to pet Champ. Champ's fur always makes me feel better. "But Lena," Mom continues. "It's clear to me you love Champ. You may love being a trainer. And if you find something you love, nothing will make us happier."  
  
"We're proud of you now," Dad says. "We'll always stay proud of you, no matter how this works out."  
  
I don't know how to look at them, so I just keep petting Champ. He snuggles closer.  
  
"Thanks guys," I manage to say. "But I am gonna do good. And then you guys won't have to worry so much."   
  
Then Mom's hugging really tight. "You shouldn't be worrying about us," she tells me. "Worrying is our job. Your job is to be a great trainer. Now come on, tell me how you met Champ here. Tell me how you've been training."   
  
I wipe away some wet I hadn't even realized was on my face and take a deep breath. "Okay. It's a long story?"   
  
"We've got all night," Dad says. He makes a show of crossing his legs and leaning forward.   
  
"Well, it started in the sewers," I begin, sitting up and letting Champ hop to my side to help me act our first meeting out. Champ and I go on speaking, and sometime in the middle of me talking I notice that I'm smiling and that my face is all dry. We’re huddled close, Mom and Dad and Champ and me, and I sort of feel like things might be okay. . .   
  
.  
.  
  
Leaving almost feels too easy. I mean, Mom hugs me and Dad hugs me and Sammy gives me a flying tackle which I think was a hug, but hugs aren’t new. I get hugs all the time. Mom and Dad and Sammy aren't the only ones I say bye to. There's the other sewer kids, those funny dancers I used to tease, that crazy guy who hangs out in our ally who I think sells drugs, but he always liked Champ so I liked him—but they aren't people who'll miss me if I'm gone.  
  
It's sort of a lonely thought. So many people live in this city, but only three will really miss me.   
  
Mom had packed me up lunch and some food that should keep long enough for me to get to the next pokemon center. The idea of a pokemon center meal keeps getting me really excited. They have a buffet, that's what Sammy said. You get a tray and go up, and take whatever you want. And you can come back for more, all free! I told Sammy she was totally lying but she swore that she wasn't.   
  
Mom and Dad had something else to give me, once I'd packed my clothes and my jacket. Dad carefully took a box out from his pocket. He offered it to me.  
  
"A gift?" I said. "Really? Can I?" I don't really get gifts often. Mom and Dad try on the holidays, but I told Mom back when I was seven and starting to know things that I'd like it better if she saved and got me a real blue jacket like in the stores. Well, she did, and I love my jacket almost the best of all, so I think that was smart of me. I took the lid off and then I didn't say anything because it's beautiful.  
  
Champ nibbled at my leg a bit because he wanted to see. Slowly, I bent down until I'm on my knees. I lay it out on the ground, respectful-like. Then it struck me that maybe the ground was too dirty. I put it back on top of the box fast.   
  
"Lookit, Champ," I said. "Rat-tat-rat!" he said. "I know the C-Gear is popular nowadays," Mom said, sounding sorry. "But this'll have to do. It's been passed down in your dad's family. Stopped working, of course, but we found a friend who got it started."   
  
It was a watch, an old-fashioned one, with an hour, minutes, and second hand, with a bright metal lid that I could click open and shut. There were little pictures scratched out on the lid of two great dragons, their heads held high.   
  
"It's beautiful," I told Mom and Dad. "It's so nice. Like—" I tried to explain, "like it's a thing someone important would have."  
  
"Rat-rat!" Champ said loudly. He pushed his face into my side so that I fell over onto the floor.   
  
"Okay, I'm being silly," I told him. "Hey, stop!"   
  
Champ was brushing his whiskers against my face and I'm sort of ticklish so I started laughing so hard, I was just flailing on the floor. At some point Dad moved the watch somewhere safe so I don't crush it.   
  
"Thank you." I remembered to say between my laughter.   
  
"You're welcome," Mom said. She brushed a hair out of my face and blinked very fast for a moment. "We'll miss you, sweetling."   
  
"Yeah," I said, sitting up and pushing Champ away. "I'll miss you guys too."   
  
.  
.  
  
I swallow as Champ and I leave the city again. Route 4 is the same sandy mess, but this time I'm just looking up and up the road. I don't have a map, but the way seems clear enough that only an idiot would get lost, and somewhere up there is Nimbassa City. I take a deep breath and stop slouching. I raise my head and with a gesture Champ comes to my side. I'm thinking that I'm not just Lena anymore.  
  
Now I'm Lena, pokemon trainer.


	3. Chapter 3

I knew this would happen eventually. You're not a trainer till you've fought another trainer. That's what it's about. I didn't think I'd be so fraidy about it.

Right now I'm standing behind a boulder, in a way that just happens to keep my out of sight from the other trainers. It's not that I'm hiding. I'm just being cautious.

These two stupid looking guys with huge backpacks catch each other's eyes. I'm busy wondering what they could be keeping in such big backpacks. I don't think all the stuff I've owned ever would fit in a backpack that big. How do they even lift it? Don't they get really tired?

"I'm Waylon," says the first guy.

"Jerome," says the other. "Shall we?"

"By all means," Waylon says. Then he pauses. "Er, mind if I—" He jerks a finger towards his backpack.

The other guy lets out a sigh. "Not at all."

They both dump their back packs onto the sand and pull out their pokeballs. My head begins to poke out above the rock. So does Champ's.

It's a short fight, between a scrawny pidove and a striped thing that uses electricity. Still, the pidove gets in a few good hits before the—he called it blitzle?—gets its act together. Jerome lets out a sigh, but he doesn't seem too put out. 

"Type matchups," he says, shaking his head. "Every time."

He pulls some poke out from his backpack and hands it to the other guy. I wonder how much he gave. Then Jerome's walking away and I'm walking out from behind the rock towards Waylon, who's still enjoying the break from his backpack. He looks up and our eyes meet.

"Great Zekrom in the sky! You a trainer?"

I nod. Then I'm not sure if that's enough so I say, "Yeah."

"Pokemon at your side, eh? Very Johto. You from Johto?"

The question weirds me out. "No!" I say. I almost blurt that I'm from Castelia, but it's not his business and I don't want him to know anyway. "Can we battle now?" I say.

"Eager, aren’t you? Bet you just started out."

That's not a question, so I don't have to answer. I'm busy looking at his shirt. It's stylish, I think.

"Silent type, eh? Alright then, Blitzle, come on out!"

The blitzle looks tired. Champ, on the other hand, is totally pumped. Our battle goes even quicker than the first. Only a few fast hits and blitzle's lying still. It's not much different than fighting the not-trainer pokemon, really.

Waylon recalls his blitzle and gives another sigh. "Lost again. Pokemon training's really just a hobby," he tells me, though I'm not sure why. "Backpacking's my true passion. Still, battling can be fun on the side."

I don't get that. He's just fine with failing? Why does he even do it? I wonder if he's talking so much to avoid giving me money. If he tries to run away, Champ'll bite him first.

"Here's your cash, kid," Waylon says, handing me a fistful of poke. I take hold of it carefully, making sure to grip tight. There's a wind, and it would be too horrible if the poke scattered.

Waylon says more stupid stuff and then I think he leaves. I'm not listening because I'm counting the money.

"$456," I tell Champ. That's more than I've ever earned in one day, no matter what I found.

"Rat-tat?" Champ asks.

"It's good, Champ. It's really good."

"Tat," Champ says, looking proud.

Then I realize I've been an idiot. I bend down quick and scritch Champ by his ears just where he likes it. "You were so good, Champ! Against a trained pokemon and everything!"

"Rattata," Champ says, tilting his head under my head.

"It's just that I've had an idea, Champ. You beat that blitzle so easy because it was already weakened, right? And that was because it had already fought. And, well, these routes have lots of trainers. So I bet trainers are always fighting trainers. So what if we waited till one trainer fought another and left them weak, and then we would fight then, and then we'd win every time!"

"Tat-tat-tat!" Like Champ's sharing my excitement, his ears perk up and his whiskers twitch.

I sit on the sand petting Champ and thinking about my plan.

.

.

We’re close to Nimbasa now, and it's getting dark. Champ and me managed another win against a beat-up starley, but after that he was tired, so we snuck down the rest of the route, ducking behind rocks and trees, so that no one would see us and want to have a fight.

When I walk into the city, I have to focus real hard on keeping my mouth shut and stopping my head from swiveling round and round. At home, all the buildings were gray, gray, gray, but here there are colors, and it's not even a festival day!

The people are more colorful too. They don't wear gray suits like the business people back home or the pieced-together greyish clothes of everyone else, but bright pinks and blues and yellows. Most of them are looking into their transceivers. The ones that aren't move together in large groups, laughing loudly with their friends. Mom calls Nimbassa the 24-hour leisure town, and I guess I'm seeing what she means.

The first place I go is the poke-mart. The stupid clerk keeps an eye on me as I walk around the store, like I'm going to run off with his stupid items or something. Well, I'm not.

Almost half of my new money goes into buying a pokeball for Champ. They won't heal him at the pokecenter unless he's in a pokeball, that's what Sammy said. The pokeball is weird to hold. It's so shiny and perfect that I almost want to try and see if Champ's teeth can make a mark. I wonder—if Champ was in the pokeball and something crushed it, would Champ die?

"Wanta try it?" I ask Champ.

He's also staring at the pokeball. "Rat-tat," he says, his tail going slowly from one side to the other.

"You don't have to. We can do the pokecenter thing tomorrow. We don't even need to go." I'm feeling pretty rotten at the idea of making Champ into red light and squeezing him into the ball.

"Rat-tat-tat," Champ reminds me.

He's right. "Okay," I say. "Champ. You just stand there. Uh, yeah. And I'll just—" 

I hold out the poke ball awkwardly, so that it's facing Champ and press down on the button. With a happy sort of click, the poke ball opens, red light going all around Champ like a sandstorm and then there's just a red light and then nothing. I'm holding the poke ball, and for the first time on this journey I'm actually alone. Champ's not by my feet, reminding me to be tall.

I take in a big breath and push the button again. It's like someone is squeezing my heart, but then there's Champ and he looks all the same. "You okay?" I ask him.

"Tat," he says."Ratta-tatta."

"What's it like?"

"Ratta-rat ratta-rat rat."

I don't think I've ever heard him say that before. Figuring out what Champ means when he talks sort of takes a while. I didn't understand him at all back when we first met. Well, I did get him when he nipped at my legs, but it took me some time and a lot more bites to figure out that Champ has a whole language, even though he only says one word.

I sit with Champ for a while, as we both listen to the sounds of this town. It's quieter than back home, despite all the colorful people—quiet was almost a myth in Castelia, but here the voices of people on the street rise and fall and then fade into the light murmur of the wind on the rooftops.

"Do you think you can do it again?" I ask Champ. "So that you can be healed?"

"Ratta-tatta," he says.

"That's not a yes."

"Tat," he says, sure this time.

I stand. "Okay then. Let's check out our first pokecenter, yeah?"

I remind myself that Champ's already braved the pokeball, and so I can be brave too.


	4. Chapter 4

Nurse Joy is nice. Almost too nice.

I want to like her because she's nice, but she makes me feel all antsy. Maybe it's how she acts almost like she cares about me. She smiles really widely like how my mom does. Except she's not my mom and she doesn't know me, so her smile makes me want to flinch back a bit.

Instead I make a small smile back at her, just push up the corners of my lips and try not to look scared.

The pokemon center is shiny, shiny, shiny. I feel sort of dirty and like I don't fit. I keep thinking someone is going to notice me, and point me out, and call the whole town over to laugh at me and say, "She's different, she doesn't belong here." I wish my clothes looked nicer.

But I know I'm being silly. Some other trainers walk in, sandy sandy from the desert, and after that I don't mind so much.

While I wait for Champ, I read a pamphlet that Nurse Joy gave me when I started clenching and unclenching my hands because I had nothing to hold. I'm not fast at reading. There are schools at Castelia, but no one cares if you go or don't. Well, Mom cared, so I went, sometimes, but they mostly told you stupid stuff like the names of pokemon in far-away places like Sinnoh and Johto. Though now that I think about it, I guess knowing more pokemon names might be useful now.

"Whatever," I say, real quietly. "We don't need to know their names to beat them." Then I realize I've been talking out-loud to Champ, except Champ's not here, and then I freeze for a minute or so, too afraid to look anywhere but forward. When no one says a word to me, and the noisy hum of the pokemon center doesn't shift, I allow myself a shaky breath and risk a look around. It's all fine; no one's heard me talking to myself.

I try to read again, but picking out the words is tiring, and it's been a long day. My eyes are sore from the desert sands and my face feels raw from the wind. If I were home, I'd be half-dozing at the table while Mom and Dad put together something yummy, but I'm not at home and I can't fall asleep here.

I shift again on the pink cushion and start to bring my watch out, sneaky-like. Probably no one would steal it here, but all the same, I don't want people to be looking at it. Or at me.

The watch says it's been twenty-two minutes. I really, really want to ask Nurse Joy how long it'll be. Will I have to stay all night? Another five minutes edge by, and then when Nurse Joy glances around the room, I don't duck my head fast enough and she meets my eyes.

"Lena, right?" she says. "Have you been waiting this whole time? Your rattata should be done with his check-up soon." She looks down at her computer for a moment. "He's newly caught, yes?"

I’m not sure what to say to that. Champ and I have been together a long time, but the pokeball is new. Probably I should just agree. 

"Yes," I say.

"Well, a wild pokemon's first check-up generally takes longer than a trained or bred pokemon's. We have to make sure the pokemon doesn't have any diseases or nutritional problems. Or pregnancies," she says, smiling at me, "but that shouldn't be a problem with your little guy."

I feel sorry for wanting to hide when Nurse Joy smiles. She sounds nice, like she cares about Champ, too. I don't think Champ's sick, but suddenly I'm worried that he is.

Maybe my worry shows, because Nurse Joy starts talking again."Disease isn't common," she says. "Most diseased pokemon don't go near enough to trainers to be caught. I wouldn't worry about your rattata. In fact, it looks like the check-up is over. Your rattata should be brought out in a few minutes."

"Great," I say, my tongue a bit too heavy. I start really smiling, at the ceiling, at the walls, at her. "That's great!"

"Will you be boarding in the center?" she asks me.

My smile tries to run away from my face, but I don't let it. "Um," I breath in, "yeah?"

"Then give me your trainer ID, and I can sign you in."

It's like I've been walking through the city, and the sun's especially bright and the air especially sweet, when suddenly I've walked over an open manhole and didn't notice, and then I'm falling so far down into a dark hole that doesn't have a bottom. I grip the sides of my jacket sleeves real tight.

"My parents didn't tell me about a trainer ID," I say, only a little trembly.

Nurse Joy lets out a sigh, like Dad does when it's trash day. "Parents," she says, shaking her head. "They never do. Well come here, dear, we'll get you set up."

I take small steps forward until I'm back standing at the front counter. Nurse Joy's sat down in front of her computer.

"Name?" she asks.

"Lena."

"I should have specified, Lena. I mean your full name."

"Oh." I blush a bit. "Lena Alperin."

"Hometown?"

"Castelia City."

"Are you planning to register for this year's Pokemon League?"

"Um."

"If you aren't sure, you can wait, but you need to register no later than three months before the competition."

"Okay." I think most trainers do register, so probably I shouldn't say that I don't want to.

"Now, smile!"

Hesitantly, I do, as Nurse Joy holds a small screen in front of me. It flashes, and I blink. Nurse Joy turns it around and I see my face: tangled hair, sand-reddened skin, and looking like I'm facing down a beartic. Nurse Joy smiles a bit. I think she's laughing at me, but I don't mind. I would laugh at me too. "You can update your ID photo at any city pokemon center," she tells me.

"Okay."

"Put your hand onto this screen, please," Nurse Joy says. When I hesitate, she explains. "This device will record your fingerprints. Standard procedure."

I guess the device makes a picture of my hands, or something. I put my hands onto the screen, and a minute later, Nurse Joy says, "Done! That's the last of it. I should have your trainer ID ready in the next hour or so. Just check back here to pick it up."

I think I'm allowed to take my hands off the screen, so I do.

Nurse Joy presses a button on her desk, and talks for a moment. She smiles at me again and says, "Your rattata is finished with his appointment, too! He's perfectly healthy, if a bit on the scrawny side. Why don't you too have some dinner now? Cafeteria is open all hours."

A chansey brings Champ out and he runs over real fast to me and jumps in my arms. I hold him close and stroke his fur and scritch his head a bit. And I lean down and say softly into his ear, "Guess what, Champ? We're going to the _buffet_."

**.**

.

My first thought is, _Sammy wasn't lying_. The buffet is enormous. There's food in these great big silver platters with great big spoons for ladling it onto your plate. There are white, white, white mashed potatoes—without skin bits in them! Mom always leaves the skin bits in because she says they're good for me.

By the mashed potatoes I find soft fresh rolls that sort of melt in my mouth when I chew. Most of the bread we usually ate was more crunchy. I liked it crunchy, but the soft is so, so good.

There's also some nutriloaf, which is what non-vegetarians who aren't rich eat. I put some on my plate just to try but it tastes weird. I eat it all though, cause Mom told me to never waste my food, and I shouldn't, not even here.

There are these fried dough balls on a stick that are so greasy and yummy I want to dance. I would have danced if I were at home. There's also lots of salad, which I don't see the point of. But the pecha berry salad is sweet so I try some of that.

The biggest shock comes when I bring up my plate to put it with all the others. Most of the other plates still have food on them! One has a whole serving of mash potatoes and two dough balls! The cleaning woman reaches for the plate and without thinking I put up my hand to stop her. "Sorry! That's—that's mine. I'm not actually done." Quickly I snatch the plate and walk back to the tables. I hope she didn't think that was weird. What if she throws me out? But when I risk looking up she's back to cleaning the plates.

Most of the trainers are chatting with each other, but I find a table where no one else is at except this quiet old lady. She's got gloves and her clothing looks made nicely. She's eating a salad.

Even though I'm full, I eat the mashed potatoes and the dough balls and give some to Champ. Champ really likes the dough balls but I think they're bad for him. Tasty things often are.

Once I've finished that second plate, I find the lady watching me hard.

"It's nice to see a young lady finishing her plate," she says.

"Thanks," I say. "Mom said I should," I add, because I notice her plate is clean too.

"So many rude children around," she says. "I'm glad some youngsters still listen to their parents. Really, running to and fro without a please or a thank you, no manners at all. Now dear, you always thank your mother when she works hard, don't you?"

"Yes," I say.

"Good." The lady nods like my manners are somehow her doing. "You'll go far, child, if you mind your etiquette."

I don't know what etiquette means but I'm too nervous to ask her. "Thank you," I say again. "Er, I need to bring my plate up."

She nods and waves a hand, which I think means I can leave. "C'mon Champ," I mutter, and we go.

.

.

There's a whole bunch of kids my age, or close to it, standing together in the lobby. One of them waves me over.

"Why've you got your rattata out of its pokeball?" the boy asks me right away once I'm close.

The question takes me by surprise. "Johto style," I say quickly, remembering Waylon.

He nods like what I said makes sense and moves to the side, making room for me. "We were just talking about what pokemon we plan to catch," he tells me.

"Rare pokemon," adds a girl. "Special pokemon."

"Not rattatas, that's for sure," says another boy with a short laugh. He smiles at me. I don't smile at him.

"Bet you can't wait to ditch yours for something stronger, huh?" the girl asks me. Her voice sounds nice, except I don't think it's nice.

I don't say anything. I just sort of leave. They're all saying stuff behind me as I walk away—"Hey, no offense meant!" "Didn't mean—" "Think she actually likes that rattata?" "Weirdo" "People get gushy about their first catch, I don't blame her." But I don't listen because I don't care.

I don't _care_.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting from Fanfiction.net, with chapters from part one slightly condensed. Updates will be weekly until the end of part two. After that, you are at the mercy of my sporadic writing.


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